Demons
by Listerly
Summary: A Walking Dead series. I don't know how long. Daryl Dixon and an OC. Rated T for language and implied naughty things. R&R please.
1. Chapter 1

Walker.

Daryl raised his crossbow with practiced ease and lined up the shot with its head. The brush in the way wouldn't be a problem; he'd always had good aim- it was kind of required when you're hunting down your meals- and it had gotten even better with all the practice he was getting recently.

This one seemed particularly agile, climbing up the side of the steep hill that reminded him of the one he'd had to climb not too long ago. His side twinged briefly at the memory.

He fired.

And, at the last second, the walker lunged forward to grab the next branch, and the arrow sunk into cleanly into the back of it's thigh.

Daryl realized the second she lunged forward she wasn't a walker. He was proven right when she yelped and lost her grip, tumbling into the pool of water twenty feet below her.

"Oh, son of a _bitch_. Ahhhh... Oh, _fuck_." The girl laid there for about a minute, groaning and swearing colorfully. She then rolled over carefully, examining her thigh in disbelief. "You gotta be kidding me. A fucking _arrow_?" She shook her head incredulously and carefully pushed herself up and pulled her right leg underneath her and braced her knee against the sandy mud in the water. Carefully she kept her left leg straight and used the stone cliff as a crutch as she limped/ lurched toward the shore.

One she reached the shore she sat down stiffly and awkwardly, and took several deep breaths. She stripped off her soaked shirt, leaving her in nothing but a thin, wet gray tank top, her bra clearly visible through it. The mysterious girl pulled a knife out of the sheath that was strapped to her belt and three strips of the shirt, then folded the rest of it into a thick pad.

The girl lifted her thigh gingerly, and examined the wound. It had gone straight through the muscle, and was bleeding steadily but not as heavy as it would've been had her main artery been hit. She gently rested her thigh against the ground, clearly satisfied that the arrow was in an okay spot to pull out. Daryl silently agreed.

Gripping her thigh in her right hand, she grabbed the arrow in her left and breathed in deeply, and pulled.

Her nose scrunched up in pain, she hissed through her teeth as the arrow slowly slid out, her jaws parting slightly in a silent scream. She gave a final yank and threw it a few feet away from her in disgust.

Trying to hurry, she grabbed the pad and shoved it against the freely flowing wound, and fumbled for the strips of cloth. She lashed them tightly around her thigh with a grunt of pain. She rolled over and shoved herself up, balancing unsteadily.

Daryl couldn't take it anymore. He remembered the feeling of hopelessness when he'd been in the same situation. He just wanted to help her out of that situation.

Yeah, that was it. Daryl Dixon was not a sentimental person, and he definitely did _not_ feel sorry for her.

Slowly, he made his way cautiously down the slope toward the girl who was washing the blood off her hands in the pool of water. He was silent, he knew he was silent, trained to be that way. You either died or were a silent motherfucker on the front lines.

But she whipped around anyway, knife drawn, leg positioned as far away from him as possible, pupils contracted to pinpoints as her eyes methodically searched the brush and locked on him.

She couldn't see him. There was no way she could see him.

But she knew he was there, all the same. So Daryl emerged warily from the foliage, crossbow raised and loaded. They regarded each other for a minute in silence, never lowering their weapons.

"You bit?"

"No. You?"

"No."

The customary exchange in this shattered world.


	2. Chapter 2

"What's your name?" the man asked her, caution radiating from every part of him.

Her vision swirls, blending greens with blues and browns with black. She can feel her knee hit the ground, but it's a sensation like her whole leg has gone numb. Blindly, she fumbles for the ground for balance. "S'Trinity," she murmurs, speaking more towards the black haze invading her vision rather than the strange man who somehow isn't a walker.

Trinity's consciousness cuts in and out and she's aware that she's being roughly haul-dragged through the forest, accompanied by a rather constant stream of profanities and grunts and comments like, "Damn girl, when was the last time you ate?" Trin managed to mumble "Coupla weeks ago," before passing out again.

It's the sun hitting her face that wakes her next.

They emerge from a the woods onto a farm that is shockingly untouched by the whole apocalypse thing.

He's got his arm underneath hers and his fingers pressed against her collar bone, the other one underneath her Trin's head is slumped against his chest, he's holding her away from her body, which she is grateful for.

But this is embarrassing. She's Trinity Noel Delacruz, and she is not alive today because she was carried everywhere. She pushes at his hands and twists, forcing her feet towards the ground, trying to support some of her own weight. Thankfully, this stranger who's already done too much for her gets the gist and shifts her so she's using him as her crutch, both arms clinging rather pathetically to his solid, warm body. But then again he's got both arms wrapped around her rib cage so she doesn't collapse, marksman eyes critically monitoring her. She just focuses on the ground and the enormous task of putting one foot in front of another.

Then several other men are there and one with short, wavy brown hair is taking some of her weight, and Trin knows a leader when she sees one. She also knows someone dangerous instantly, and the man with the black hair so short you can see his skull definitely is someone to either take out or avoid. So when he comes to help she shies away from him as much as possible, but he supports her anyway, along with the leader of the group. And then Trin gets a glimpse of an older man in a crisp white shirts and her vision goes dark, and this time she's solidly out cold.

"... said her name was Trinity or somethin'. I thought she was a walker. Hell, she looked just like one. I figured I owed her. She was cuttin' in and out the whole way here, and I don't think she could find her way back here if we turned her loose away from here."

Then, as the one familiar voice filters it's way into her consciousness, another thing registers.

She's tied down in a place she doesn't know and they're discussing her death.

Trin throws herself against the restraints, arching her back as much as possible, every muscle in her body standing at attention. But she's weak and food deprived, and dizzy from blood loss, and she slumps back against the table. After three gasps for air, she tries again, throwing herself to the left and to the right desperately. The bond on her right foot gives and she yanks her leg up towards her, desperate for any movement she can get.

"Hey!"

"Whoa, stop!"

The men hold her down and she throws herself against them, straining as hard as she can, twisting and wiggling around despite the searing pain that has permeated her entire leg by now. The men continue to shout at her to stop, that she's hurting herself, they'll sedate her.

Trinity pulls back her leg and kicks the leader away from her, a solid one to the gut, and he stumbles back away from her, wheezing for air. Her rescuer reaches across her body to pin the arm his comrade just let go of and she lunges and sinks her teeth into his arm. He grunts in pain and hits her in the face, a solid blow, but she hangs on, thinking pit bull thoughts. He's swearing and hitting her, but that's something she's used to. She clenches her aching jaws even tighter and tastes metallic blood, and through the pain a small trickle of reason clears some of the panic away, enough to know this is stupid.

She's hurting herself, making these men- who are her potential allies- hate her, and it's not going to help her or get her anywhere anyway.

She lets go and forces herself to relax back against the metal gurney, which feels like a sheet of ice. Another smack across her face comes, and then the brown haired man pulls him away from her. "I'm gonna stomp your ass, you little bitch!" he roars at her.

"Bitch please, I could kick your ass any day of the week," she snaps, or tries to. It comes out strained, forced through clenched teeth.

"Yeah? Come on then," her rescuer challenges, straining against the other man.

"Well, it's not worth it, if that guy can hold you back," Trinity retorts snidely.

The man practically roars, just like she knew he would.


	3. Chapter 3

The girl squints as she steps out into the sunlight. Dale waves her over, and after a moment of deliberation, she starts making her way over there.

To everyone else, she's healed and fine, her stride even and normal. To him, she's hurting. Bad. As she walks, she tries not to baby her leg, but she still has a very noticeable hitch in her stride. To him, at least.

It was also obvious, that being disabled like that, however temporarily, was frustrating and upsetting for her. He quickly glanced her over.

Her hair didn't matter to him, the curls thrown haphazardly into a pony tail that was- okay- kind of attractive in a sweaty, sexy, I-don't-give-a-damn-about-how-I-look kind of way.

She had a stance and a stature that suggested she'd always been skinny, and the shape and development of her muscles told him they'd been toned at an early age- younger than ten- and had always been there. He'd learned to recognize the body of someone who grew up fast, simply because he'd seen his own so many times.

Her body, however, was less sturdy than his. Less... tough-looking. It was leaner and more fluid. She was an athlete, probably had been her entire life.

So to be at less than her peak performance physically, from the looks of it, was making her want to scream and hit something. He knew the feeling.

When she reaches the group, who are all sitting in random places each whatever lunch they could scrounge- they were all smart enough not to say anything about the rabbit he caught this morning- she pauses, her knee bent to alleviate the pressure. Finally, she takes a plate of food offered to her by Carol, and walks about ten feet away, out of earshot, then lithely climbs up into the tree. She sets about eating her breakfast like there's no tomorrow- and hell there might not be.

"Why is she eating like that?" Rick muttered to Daryl. His knee-jerk reaction was to say, "How the hell should I know?" but he did know why. He'd done it himself. "She doesn't know when she gets to eat next," he muttered.

Hell, he was clearly right. The girl was methodically licking her fingers clean, and glancing at the paper plate, checking for scraps that weren't there.

"There's more where that came from!" Rick called over, and she froze and looked up. He waved her over, and after a minute, she glanced down at her plate, and cautiously climbed down the tree. She limped over, and Carol spooned more food onto her plate before she could protest. She stood there awkwardly, unsure of where- or who- to sit with.

After a beat, Daryl saved her, clearing his throat and waving her over to his spot. He figured she'd want his spot most, since it was farthest away from the group. She walked over, sitting down stiffly, her leg clearly protesting. "Thanks," she muttered.

"Yeah, well.. Figured I owed you for that," he said, gesturing towards her leg. She smirked and started wolfing down her food.

"You gotta take it slow. You're gonna throw up," he warned her, aware of how long it had been since she'd eaten. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and slowed her pace, taking a moment to chew. She finished her meal, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She sat back, leaned against the log they'd been using as a bench rest. "When am I leaving?" she asked.

"I don't think you are," Daryl replied.

"Says who?" she asked, bristling.

"Says me. Says Rick. Says Hershel. You're injured, it's a shot in a million that you make it by yourself, and after we expended medical supplies and time and effort on you? I'd say you owe pulling your weight around here for a little bit," he snapped back. She glared at him but said nothing. After a minute she nodded, tentatively at first, then with more decisiveness. "Okay."


End file.
